The Hunger Games by Peeta Mallark
by anarrowtothefeels
Summary: This is simply The Hunger Games from Peeta's pov  because I find him to be incredibly perf.  please rate and comment  :   Basically the same as the book as far as rating goes, but I hope to give a bit more about Peeta and show the way that I see him.
1. Chapter 1

"Peeeeta! bring me that flour!" My mom bellowed from the kitchen. I obediently lifted the sack above my shoulder and dropped it off at her feet. "Quit lagging around, you know we're extra busy on reaping day," she scolded as I washed my hands.

I began to roll more flour into the dough as it stuck to my hands. Being a baker, whether it was reaping day or not, doesn't allow for a day off. My mother was firm and we were all, my brothers and me, her employees.

At the Mallark house, there was nothing different about this day, but outside, which everyone pretended not to notice, was a wasteland. Everyone tucked inside their homes safe and sound; that is, until the Reaping begins when attendance is mandatory for those aren't dead.

People try and convince themselves that it's nothing. Some even make a celebration out of it. But no one's really fooling themselves… except for maybe my mother who genuinely doesn't seem to care. People in District 12 side step everything about the Games. When the tributes are called forth, people keep their heads down and wait for it to be over. Everyone attends the mandatory viewings of the Games when they get really "interesting" but they're all just trying to get through it until they can go back to their "life" while they starve to death.

But, we still had an hour before the reaping begins and we have to get as much done in that time frame as possible as even people from the Seam who can muster up enough cash will be purchasing food from the only bakery in town as they celebrate the fact that the odds were in their favor.

Garzo, my oldest brother, tosses a bag of sugar onto my shoulders as I buckle under the pressure. He grunts an apology and continues to the oven where he removes the rolls he had baking. This was the most my brothers and I would talk any given day; a variation of grunts to display the most basic emotions. Because they were both void of personality and possibly emotion, I grunt in reply and life goes on. I might have taken a moment to care about the obvious anger attributed with that specific grunt, but the bag of sugar meant that cakes had cooled and needed frosting.

I always frosted the cakes, as I was the only one who had attributed my grandfathers eye for detail, but they were always the most generic designs of a flower or a message of condolences. However, on reaping day, my father gave me one gift: I could frost whatever I wanted, however I wanted. That was gift enough, because, for a moment, reaping day went away and it was just me.

But it was gone in a flash and we were dressed in our best, being corralled into the square silently.

I stand in a group of other 16 year olds, all of which I was well aquainted with, and scanned the crowd. Which one of my peers would be fighting to the death?

As my eyes wander, I catch her eye, and she looks away, as is the order. Katniss Everdeen. Her braid sat neatly on the side of her shoulder instead of down her back and her face held its usual almost bored expression. But I could see something more under the surface; something that I knew she didn't want anyone to see. But I'd seen those eyes flicker with emotion when she thought no one was looking. I'd seen her in The Hob, eyes bright with life, so different from how they were now: focused. She kissed her sister on the forehead and blended into the crowd of girls so that I could only make out her hands that were folded precisely in front of her body. They didn't shake as so many others did around her.

I pretended to listen intently as I do every year. Instead of putting myself through the unecesary torment, I stare intently at Effie Trinket. I pick out the details in her outfit and bright pink wig that is slightly askew because of an interaction with Haymitch Abernathy - the only living tribute District 12 has, and a perfect drunk.

"Such an honor it is to be chosen as tribute," Effie chimes in her signature voice: too high pitched and too stressed in all the wrong places, just as everyone from the Capitol. She continued on with the same words she says every year and begins the reaping with the words "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" As she digs in the bowl that holds the names of every female from the ages of 12-18, I think of Katniss and how many slips she has in their from all of her tesseraes and how, maybe the odds weren't in her favor. I closed my eyes and waited.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

My head jerked over to Katniss. Her face was blank, unfocused. She grabbed onto Graham Clemens for stability which she obviously couldn't maintain on her own. I wanted to be there to hold her up, but she was falling and there was no way for me to catch her, so I watched as her little sister found her way to the path. Katniss moved swiftly to clear the distance between them, almost as if she wasn't aware that she was doing it. She lunged for Prim while Peacekeepers began to restrain her. Thrashing in their arms, terror enveloped her and a tormented sound escaped my lips.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" Katniss's face was contorted and her breathing rapid. A lump began to form in my throat and dots stood out clearly in my field of vision. Katniss went from mad to composed within seconds and began to make her way the stage. Katniss and Prim had switched rolls as Prim screamed out her name and cried. As I watched Gale rip her little sister from her dress, I tried to remember that I had to breathe. I tried to think about the situation logically: she's charismatic, so she'll have no trouble getting sponsors, and she'll do whatever it takes to keep herself alive.  
>I was so busy thinking about how Katniss was going to handle the weeks ahead of her, that I almost didn't hear Effie Trinket ring out my name.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

_Well, _I thought _Now she'll notice me._  
>I made my way briskly up to the isle, trying to think about everything and nothing all at once. I kept my head down as I passed my brothers who stood nearer the stage as they were both older. I knew that they wouldn't be stepping up from me as Katniss had for Primrose, and I didn't expect them to – that just wasn't us. I knew my parents would be upset, but my mom would be upset about losing a pair of hands and my dad would probably be more upset about Katniss.<br>No, I didn't have to worry about home my family would be affect, I surely knew, but as I cleared the steps to the stage, I steal a glance at Katniss who is still staring out to the crowd with an emotionless expression as the mayor reads the Treaty. The time comes for us to shake hands and her reserve is slightly broken by the clamminess of our exchange and the slight tremor that both of us shared. Our eyes met and I thought I saw a sadness in hers, but quickly realized that it must have been my own expression reflected back at me.


	3. Chapter 3

The Peacekeepers hurry us off in different directions and I steel one last glance at Katniss to see how she's holding up: strong as ever, her reserve hasn't faltered.

Now comes the part that I was personally dreading – the goodbyes. I already knew how my family felt, and having them all come in and talk about it; it sounded exhausting. But as I sat on the white couch in the white room, a melancholy feeling set over me. My dad enters the room and his face says everything. I know we only have a short time, but as soon as the door closes behind him I stand and he wraps me in his arms just as he had my first day home from school. I pulled away and began spewing out words that I didn't even know I'd been thinking. "She doesn't need anything else to worry about while she's in the arena. I want you to go to her after you leave here and assure her that you'll take care of Prim because that's all she's going to care about. Make sure she knows you'll stick to your word and she understands. I'm going to do everything – EVERYTHING – I can to make sure she wins, to make sure she LIVES!" Hot tears were running down my cheeks.

"I know Son, I will. Shh," my father soothed. He pulled my face into the crook of his shoulder and I wept freely. Him I would miss, his gentle hand stroked my hair. I pulled back to look at him and his burned hand wiped my tears away in an almost rough stroke. "Dad…" I pleaded. I needed him to understand. "I will Peeta, you know I will. I'll do all that and more. The Everdeen's will be cared for," and I knew he was sincere. He may be married to my mom, but his heart still belonged to Mrs. Everdeen and if he wouldn't do it for me, then he would surely do it for her.

I mindlessly ran my thumb along the padding on his hand which was smooth from the burns, from years at the oven. His eyes were filled with tears and his hands damp from brushing away mine. I heard the doorknob turn in slow motion and my dad was being taken from me. I pressed my body up against the wall and peered through the door in desperation. I saw my dad's hand reach for the door opposite mine before the door closed in my face. I pounded my fist against the door and waited, trying to compose myself. I made my way back to the couch and sat on the edge.

I didn't have long to compose myself before the Peacekeeper brought in my brothers; this should be good. They came in the room silently as the same Peacekeeper who led me here told them to keep it short. Garzo sat on the edge of the couch and looked at me, real emotion on his face.

"You don't have to say it," I whispered as I stared into his greenish eyes. His features softened and the circles under his eyes looked darker than ever. Whatever emotion he had displayed vanished and his face hardened just as fast as it had softened. "Well, you'll be thankful for those bags of flower I've thrown on your shoulders now," he said gruffly. It was probably the first full sentence I had heard from him in a year and it was more than I ever thought I would.

Rye, who was just a year older than me, came up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder. "They're strong," he observed. "You don't have anything to worry about," he lied. I put my hand on his hand and we sat like that for a moment until the Peacekeeper came in to inform them that their time was up. I kept my head down as they made their way to the door. I waited for them to leave but their presence made me look up. Both stared at me and grunted a salute. Without another word they turned and left. The last exchange I would ever have with my brothers was by far my best, as I heard a grunt that wasn't amongst our usual and I could only attribute it with a sort of love.

I stared at the door as my mom was ushered in. She sat on the edge of the couch and pulled me into her bony arms for the most awkward hug in the world and it was all I could do to suppress a scoff; she hugged me for maybe the third time in my life and she was playing it up for the Peacekeepers. The door closed and she released me. I stared into her eyes with an intensity that I couldn't hide as I tried to work out what was swimming behind those blue eyes. They were the same as mine in color and distinction, and yet they were so different: cold and hard. And again, I wondered for the thousandth time whatever could have made her so rigid.

She let out a deep sigh and turned her head to the wall. A noise caught in my throat as I recognized the exasperation that I had always tried so hard to keep out of her voice. Her eyes flicked back to me and studied my face. I allowed my eyes to meet hers and we held each other's gaze for a moment and she reached out and put her hand on my arm. It didn't even feel weird, but almost comforting. I allowed myself to feel relieved. A part of me thought that we were about to have some profound moment and all of the years of cool glares and sharp tones would melt away. Instead, she said, "Maybe this year, District Twelve will finally have a winner." She smiles – more of a grimace – and clasps my head tight. My smile is wiped from my face as soon as her obvious meaning sets in: Katniss has a chance, but I'm as useless as I am with the cheese buns.

I sat on the train, trying to push all thoughts from my head. I stared out the window and watched as the world literally passed me by. It was like nothing I'd ever seen and instead of dwelling on the recent past, or more importantly, the recent future, I just watched. I tried to soak in all the scenery as it whizzed by and capture it. The trees have begun to change into a sort that I had never seen before and were far prettier than any I had noticed in District Twelve. The leaves were assorted in colors: oranges, greens, browns, reds. Colors that I never thought I'd seen in a _tree. _

"Off to your room, you positively should freshen up before dinner," Effie says in her singsong voice. I glance up at her and nod slightly. She leaves me with a servant who guides me to a large white door with gold vined designs. He closes the door behind me a leaves me to revel in the beauty that is my room. After taking in the lavish décor (rabbit fur comforter, goose down end seat, thick Persian rug made of an unknown material that gives underneath my footsteps) I realize that this is only my room on the _train_, what will my room in the Capitol look like?

I have about 30 minutes until I need to be back out for dinner and I figure that it's just enough time to get really comfortable. I strip off my dress shirt, which seemed nice back in Twelve but felt ridiculous now, and curled into a ball in between the two rabbit fur comforters (Yes, there were two!).

What felt like moments later there were three knocks at my door and I was being beckoned for dinner. I pulled open the dresser nearest the bed and was relieved to find a plain blue tshirt and black pants that I pulled on with haste. I slipped on my shoes at the door and shook out my curls as I made my way to the dining area.

Before me was a feast of unbelievable proportions and most of the stuff I had never seen before, but overall I smelt the sweet smell of hot chocolate, which I had never forgot the taste of, and my mouth began to salivate. I took my seat, trying not to look too eager and took a gulp from my mug. It was as sweet as ever, and it caught in my throat as Katniss rounded the corner.

Since the train ride when I had lost myself in the scenery, I had allowed myself to escape from the current situation. For me, that didn't mean forgetting that I was heading for the Games, but it was forgetting who I was heading to the Games _with. _Now that she's sat down across from me at the table, this fantasy is hard to hold onto. I focus on the food, piling as much into my mouth as I can while maintaining some composure.

"Where's Haymitch?" Effie chimed, not really seeming to care. "Last time I saw him, he was going to take a nap," I offered between gulps. He had passed me after about 20 minutes on the train, staggering back to his compartment in a sleepy daze. I'd wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't made it all the way to his room.

"Well, it's been an exhausting day," she replies, bright as ever. Haymitch's absence didn't really seem to affect her.

"Do try and save some space, there's plenty more, plenty more." I was aware that there was plenty more, and I planned on eating it all. It wasn't just about how succulent it all was, but I needed to put on as much weight as possible. I regret this decision after our final course is taken away, as nausea has begun to settle over me, but sips of the crystalline water still my stomach.

We sit stiffly in front of a flat television to watch the Reaping's of those we will be murdering sometime this month. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation," Effie rings, obviously annoyed at the reminder. I can't help but scoff at the fact that that was all she took away from our little program. "He was drunk. He's drunk every year." "Every day," Katniss added matter of factly. I chuckled and she stifled her laughter. Effie, on the other hand, looked thoroughly unimpressed. "Yes," hisses Effie Trinket. "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"

As if on cue, Haymitch stumbles in, mumbling incoherently and vomits at his feet. To top it off, he falls into said pool of vomit face first. "So laugh away," says Effie, with as much irony as she can muster.


End file.
